The Truth About Dogs and Cats
by tarheelveteran
Summary: *REWRITE* Charlotte, North Carolina.  Victims are found mutilated in bizarre ways. The BAU must now find the unsub before he can act again.  I promise you, this version will be much better.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything of Criminal Minds or its intellectual properties. Call me if they ever want to give up Rossi. **

**A/N: I have decided to clean up this story and rewrite it properly. At the time I first wrote this, I had a strange compulsion to write every chapter to be 4 pages long. No more, no less. Now some chapters will be longer than others, but I promise they will be right. Some may take longer than others, but I promise you they will be worth the wait. Reviews are appreciated but not necessary.**

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

Charlotte, North Carolina

The man lit a cigarette into his cupped hands as he walked down the quiet street. It was March, and he barely noticed the scent of the hyacinths blooming. It was quiet, he thought; too quiet for this neighborhood. He couldn't help but glance between the Victorian houses that were so close together.

He turned toward the woods and along the dirt path that he had always taken. It was secluded as always, but he couldn't help but feel like he wasn't alone.

_Crunch, crunch, crunch._

He stopped and stiffened up.

Silence. Nothing but the sound of his own breathing.

It might have been a stray dog or a deer. Or a mugger. Adrenaline shot through him as he held his jacket together and walked faster, just in case it was the latter.

_Crunch, crunch._

"What the hell?" he whispered to himself. He stood still again and listened before flicking on his cigarette lighter. Nothing but the trees. He breathed deeply, knowing he would be fair game in the darkness. He held his right foot up slightly, just in case it was a neighbor's dog. He would kick it in the nose, and it would go away. "Somebody out there?"

Silence.

The man dropped his cigarette in the dirt and squashed it with his foot. "Somebody out there?" he called again.

More silence.

He breathed deeply and began to walk again, his eyes fixed on the light that was about fifty feet in front of him. He knew he would be safe then.

The man had not gotten far when he felt a pain in his back that went through his body in a second. His body lost control as he fell face down against the cold dirt. He couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't groan, squirm, or even hold his hands out.

Just as his body began to stop tingling, he had just reached his arm out when he felt a weight on his back.

And a horrible pain on his right ear. He turned his head and gave a gutteral scream. The weight would not have sympathy for him or even get off his back.

Now he felt a sawing sensation. He knew the warmth on his face was blood streaming down to his cheeks and dripping into the leaves. He squirmed under the weight and screamed more, his arms and legs flailing, the warmth running down to his nose and stinging his eyes now.

"_Oh God! No! Make it stop! Pleeeaaase!"_

"See how _you_ like it!" a voice rasped.

Finally the weight lifted off his back. The footfalls disappeared behind him.

With both hands he felt his head. There was torn flesh where his ears used to be. He stopped for a moment, not believing this could have happened. But the pain, the bleeding, and the horror had taken him over. Still determined to get to safety, he crawled along the dirt much like a soldier would crawl under barbed wire.

_"Aahhh! Oh God! Help me!"_


	2. Extreme Aggressor

**Chapter 1—Extreme Aggressor**

Agent Derek Morgan flipped papers on his desk, shuffling them into piles, ignoring the noise around him.

"Happy Saint Patrick's Day everybody!" JJ said as she carried a plastic box and set it down. "I was a little bored last night, so I made green cupcakes. Help yourself!"

Emily reached for a cupcake. "You? Bored? Not possible."

"Yeah, well. Happens once in a while. Have some, Morgan?"

Morgan glanced up at the pink plastic box and waved his hand. "No thanks. You guys can eat."

Penelope Garcia wore a green dress with black polka dots with her green dangle earrings. Her blonde hair had green streaks. With two fingers she plucked out a cupcake and waved it in front of Morgan's face before she popped some into her mouth. "Mmm. Delicious. You sure you don't want some? Turns your mouth green."

He smiled that special smile at her. "Nah, thanks Baby Girl." He waved his hand and leaned down, now glancing over each pile of papers.

Agent Rossi came up and looked over shoulders before fishing out a cupcake for himself. He licked his thumb, which had some green frosting. "Tastes great. Thanks, JJ."

"I see you're wearing your green vest" Emily pointed out to Rossi.

He glanced down at himself. "Well, yeah." He grinned. "I don't want anyone pinching me."

"Ya mean like Strauss?" Emily said with a grin.

Morgan sensed a presence behind him. "Hey, Reid. Happy Saint Patrick's Day."

Spencer Reid sported a green dress shirt and dark green tie as he peered at the cupcakes. "It's celebrated every March 17 for Saint Patrick, who lived in the third century A.D. He was taken as a slave in England, where he taught Christianity to the natives of Ireland. The people couldn't understand the holy trinity, so it was said that he picked a three-leaf clover and pointed to each leaf, saying 'God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost.' Leprechauns came to be associated with the holiday, and so did the wearing of the green. In the early 1840's Irish immigrants brought the holiday and traditions to America. While Americans have a party, many of the Irish still observe the day by going to mass." With a slight grin he held out two fingers to Morgan's arm. "In fact, it's tradition to pinch somebody who's not—"

Morgan glared up at his fingers. "I'll knock you in the middle of next year, Reid!"

Reid swallowed and pulled his arm back. "Sorry."

Aaron Hotchner bolted out his office and down to the bullpen, flipping pages in a folder. "Don't get too comfortable. Got one in Charlotte, North Carolina! Serial mutilations." He placed the folder on the table, well away from the cupcakes so as not to get them smeared by the icing that had fallen on the desk. "Four attacks in two months. May be more. Charlotte Police Department is trying to find a connection with other similar attacks."

The team gathered around, while Agent Rossi fanned out the photographs.

"Latest one is Patrick Cassidy. Twenty-two years old" Hotch noted, pointing to the photo. "Twenty-four hours ago. He's a student at Metrolina Community College. Neighbors heard him screaming." He motioned around the burgundy patch above the man's jaw. A hole was all that remained of the ear. "Both ears cut off when he walked on a secluded trail in the downtown area."

"But no murders?" Rossi said.

Hotch shook his head. "None that were connected to these attacks. Only mutilations." He flipped to another photograph. "Corey Porter. Age seventeen. Held down while the unsub poured acid on his face, specifically his eyes. Permanently blinded."

JJ studied the next photo. "Ten days ago. Chet Langston. Sixteen years old. Says here the unsub poured lighter fluid on his head and set it on fire. He's currently in the Chapel Hill burn unit. Critical."

"Courtney Blanchard. Age thirteen. Just like the others. Tased in the back. Both her eyes were jabbed out with an ice pick."

"So this unsub isn't going after one particular age group" Derek pointed out. "Students, maybe?"

"Possible. Middle school, high school, college senior" Rossi said.

"Any evidence at the scenes?" Emily wanted to know as she discreetly licked the greenness off her thumb.

"None. Patrick Cassidy's ears were apparently taken from the scene. It's a dirt trail, so they're looking for footprints or blood drops. Nothing yet."

"Any sexual assaults?" Morgan wanted to know.

"None. Some form of sadism. This unsub isn't sticking to any age range or gender. The use of tasers tells us he's either too small to subdue his victims, or it adds to the sadism, therefore increasing the infliction of pain."

"It's called piquerism" Rossi said as he picked up one of the photos. "The attacker gets pleasure just out of mutilating his victims, such as cutting off ears, cutting off noses, lips, eyelids, fingers. A piquerist doesn't want to kill them, but he wants to do more than just humiliate them. He gets his pleasure by disfiguring them with sharp objects. And if they die, well, that's just collateral damage."

"Piquerism is the strongest form of power reassurance behavior" Reid said. "The unsub is reassuring himself and his victim in the strongest way possible that he's in full control. And by severing body parts, he makes sure his victims never, ever forget."

"There is one thing all the victims have in common" Hotchner said. "At least the ones who can talk. Every one of the vics reported that the unsub said 'See how _you_ like it!' but they said it in a way that suggested the victim deserved it. Judging from the voice, the Charlotte police believe it's either a small, high-voiced man or a large, deep-voiced woman."

"Revenge, possibly?" Morgan wanted to know.

"Possible" Hotch said as he handed Garcia some pages. "Garcia, get me the backgrounds on these victims. Especially look for criminal records."

"Already done." With that she turned and headed for the computer lab.

"Be ready in half an hour to go to Charlotte."

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><p><em>Psssss pssss psss psss. <em>"Betsy. Come here, girl."

The brown tabby cat slowly lifted her head. The absence of ears made things sound funny. She turned her head and then limped across the carpet.

"That's right, Betsy. Yeah. That's such a good girl."

The old brown tabby knew the sound and smell of the treat cans. She meowed and gently reared up onto the easy chair, devouring her beef treat, then looking hopefully at the can.

Her owner then stroked her with a loving hand, careful not to touch the holes that were now her ears. She gently brushed against the legs.

"I don't care if we have to cut up this whole damned city. We're gonna get the bastards who did this to you. I swear."


	3. Faceless, Nameless

**Chapter 2—Faceless, Nameless**

_Chief Seneca once said "He who injured you was either stronger or weaker. If weaker, spare him; if stronger, spare yourself."_

As the jet carried them southward, Hotchner and Rossi continued to study the file while JJ looked on. Emily thumbed through a magazine. "So. Charlotte, huh?"

"Lot of people think Charlotte is just some backwater town, but it has the most banks in the country, after New York" Reid said, peering up from his book. "It's also the cradle of NASCAR, which originated in the Great Depression, when moonshiners designed their cars to outrun the police."

"Like to have something like that" Morgan added. "One of those old cars that can do two hundred?"

"You'd crash into the wall, Morgan" JJ said, never looking up.

"Classic rage" Hotch mulled as he thumbed through the photos.

"Yeah. Patrick Cassidy again" Rossi pointed out. "According to the medical staff, the ears were cut off in a hurry. Of course with all these houses around, somebody was bound to hear something. And look at this trail."

"Secluded, but close enough that the neighbors heard the screaming."

"Unsub knew just where to find him" Morgan noted. "Where and when he'd be going home from classes. Had to have been stalking this guy for a while."

The black FBI screen disappeared. "Hey, got Garcia" Hotchner said. "Garcia, what about any commonalities with our vics?"

The analyst's face turned sour. "Well, every one of these scumbags had criminal records, all animal cruelty charges. Two of them have aggravated assaults."

"That can be a jumpoff for animal cruelty" Emily noted.

"Says here that this latest piece of crap, Cassidy, was acquitted for insufficient evidence. Neighbors filed a police report that says he cut the ears off their Chihuahua. Then there's angel from Hell, Corey Porter. Threw acid on a German Shepherd he said bit him."

"That would explain the acid attack" Hotchner said.

"Langston and some of his sick buddies poured lighter fluid on a cat and set it on fire. Cat died. Langston did time in Juvie for that and an unrelated charge, but his buddies got off scot-free."

"Let me guess. Courtney put out eyes" Rossi said as he leaned his chin on his hand thoughtfully.

"Yep, you'd be right." The blonde tech breathed deeply as she threw her pink pen onto the desk. "Sick bastards. If you ask me, they deserved it."

Hotch knew it wasn't necessary to remind her not to be biased. "Anything else?"

"You'll be the second to know. Ta ta for now."

"Okay" Hotchner said. "Thanks Garcia." With that the screen went blank again.

"So is it too far a leap of faith to say our unsub works with animals?" JJ asked as she looked up.

"And also that he stalked Cassidy" Morgan added. "He knew what they'd done."

"Maybe he has access to jail records?" Emily said. "More than what you'd find on the internet."

"Veterinarian, maybe?" Morgan suggested.

"Or an animal rights activist?" JJ added.

"While this unsub is bent on revenge and control, there seems to be a kind of nurturing for animals" Emily said. "Animal rights activists have been known to destroy property, setting meat trucks on fire and slashing tires of somebody who works in an animal lab, but to attack a human being like that is unknown for them."

"That sort of thing happens more out west, say like in California, unless they're making their way east" Morgan said. "So what are you saying?"

"Revenge but an odd kind of compassion for animals. Almost like a mother would get revenge to protect her kids. I wonder—"

"This unsub might even be a woman."

"It's possible" Hotch said. "Ninety percent of women incarcerated committed crimes that involved protection. Protecting their children or protecting themselves from an abusive spouse."

"But what about animals?" JJ asked.

"It's possible" Rossi said. "Over seventy-five percent of women own cats and small dogs."

"All the attacks happened late at night. Patrick Cassidy was walking home from the college. Unsub had to know his routine" JJ said. "Says Chet Langston was out at a party at 12:30 in the morning."

"But that's not a normal routine, is it?" Morgan said. "How'd they know?"

"Clearly a local. Might work a night shift to be awake that late at night and stalk his vics" Hotchner explained. "Or maybe unemployed."

"Or just a night owl" Rossi suggested.

"Anybody kidnapped?" Morgan wanted to know.

"According to the Charlotte-Mecklenburg police, there were no body dumps in these cases. Vics were attacked right at the scene and left there. Obviously, most places were secluded. How else could he have set Chet Langston's head on fire without anybody noticing?"

"Says in the report he was sitting in a car in a vacant lot on the west side of town" Rossi said. "That's the least developed and a high crime area. If you ask me, guy was a sitting duck."

Hotch sat up in the seat now. "Rossi, you and I meet with the Charlotte police chief."

Rossi nodded.

"Reid, you, Emily and Morgan talk to any witnesses, and see whether you can talk to some of the vics. Chances are this unsub's not gonna rest until we find them."


	4. Open Season

**Chapter 3—Open Season**

**A/N: I want to thank everyone for their patience in my working on this story. Some other things came down the pike in the last couple of months, and it looks like now I'll be able to clean this up and repost it. Thank you also for your kind words and reviews.**

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><p>"Welcome. Chief Rodney Hambright. Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police. Thanks for coming."<p>

Hotchner shook hands with the burly officer. He was African American, his hair no longer than half an inch, with a vise-like handshake.

"Our pleasure. We're with the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit. This is JJ Jareau, our media relations agent. Emily and Morgan are experts in ordinance and analysis. And this is Dr. Spencer Reid. He's an expert on, well, everything."

Chief Hambright smiled cordially. "We have a conference room set up for you. Please, make yourself at home."

"Actually" Hotchner said "We'd like to speak with your latest vic, Patrick Cassidy."

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><p>Morgan and Emily stepped into the glaring hospital room where Patrick rested. His face was nearly blood red from the trauma he had suffered the night before. IV lines snaked up from his arms to the IV bags that surrounded the head of his bed. Thick white bandages covered what once used to be his ears. His head now looked strangely ovular.<p>

"Patrick Cassidy" Morgan said. "Can you hear us?"

The man opened his eyes slightly and then closed them. "Hell of a thing to say."

"Look, we understand" Emily told him. "We're with the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit. We just want you to tell us what you remember about the attack. No detail is too insignificant."

The brown-haired man turned his head carefully, almost as if remembering the ordeal was painful enough. "I was...walking home from...North Tech" he slurred. "Hung out... with... some friends. Left at ten, which is about...when, when I always leave."

"Did you notice anything out of the ordinary?" Morgan wanted to know.

"Uh uh."

"Go on. Take as much time as you need."

"Well..it was kind of dark. Heard a crunching...sound behind me. Thought it was a...deer or a stray dog or something."

"Had you ever heard anything like that on the trail before?"

"Yeah, couple of times. Turned out to...be a squirrel or a...raccoon. Like I said, it's dark out there. Yeah, okay...maybe I shouldn't be walking on a...dark trail, but I did."

"So that was leading up to the attack" Emily noted. "What happened after that?"

"...felt this pain in my back. Hurt like hell. Lost control and...fell on the ground. Found out later I... got tased." He rested before catching his breath. "God that hurts! Before I could get up...I felt somebody kneeling...on my back." He closed his eyes. This would be the difficult part.

"Go on" Emily urged.

"Then I...felt..I dunno, a knife on one ear. Then the other." Despite the painkillers in his system, he swallowed hard and cringed.

"Did you see anybody?"

"No. Guy got away...before I could get up. I was bleeding...to death, and it all happened so fast."

"Can you describe the voice?"

"The guy said...'See how you like it!'"

"What did the voice sound like?" Morgan asked.

"Like, kind of high-pitched, like the dude was excited or something. Like...like he got off on watching me die...but then he took off."

"Patrick, weren't you convicted of animal cruelty a couple of year ago?"

"Kind of."

"Kind of?" Morgan sneered. "Police report says you cut the ears off a neighbor's dog."

Patrick Cassidy just closed his eyes and drooped his head now. "Damn thing...wouldn't shut up. Kept yapping all day and all night... Neighbors didn't seem to give a damn. So I...took care of it."

"What were those neighbors like up to that point?" Emily wanted to know.

Tiredly he shrugged. "Never paid attention."

Emily breathed deeply to dispel her anger as she put her scribbled notes away. "Thanks, Patrick. We'll be in touch if we find out anything."

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><p>"Hey, come on, man. You wasted or something?"<p>

The young man bent over and clutched his stomach, afraid he might throw up on the dingy sidewalk. He could feel his throat pulsing, so he also covered his neck.

The sober man took him by the arm and led him off the dark, dingy curb, so quickly that he almost fell face-down onto the road.

"Crap" he muttered. "Let's just get home."

The wave of nausea had passed, and the sober man laughed. It was dark on the old, ruddy street, but then he was sure he could hear an engine.

"The hell is that?"

His sober friend stopped and strained his ear. "Dunno. Probably streetracing."

"Or the cops. Come on, let's just get out of here." Adrenaline shot through him now, knowing what could happen if the police caught up with them.

The sober man didn't think much about it. He slapped his friend's hunched-over back. "Stand up straight, will ya?"

He hugged the man's waist. "Yeah, I'm trying, man!"

Lights off, the car peeked around the corner, rolling slowly toward them.

"Hell is that?"

"Dunno."

With a _thump!_ he rolled on the pavement, his head hitting the curb with a _crack_! blood leaking out of his ears and nose as the car barreled down the dark road, its brakes howling as it turned around.

"Ty! No!" The drunken man fell back on the curb and put his hands out.

Lights off, the car circled again, revving its engine, and barreled over the man again before disappearing around the corner. He lay still now, his arms and legs sprawled out like a limp rag doll. His shoes had flown off and now rest on the curb. From the way his head turned, it was obvious that his neck was broken.

Unable to keep his balance, the friend crawled on hands and over to Tyler and just stared at him for what seemed an eternity. Blood streamed from his ears and nose now.

Instinct told him to shake his friend. "No, man" he sobbed. "No! Ty? Wake up, man!"

Tyler's blood-soaked eyes were open in fear and surprise. He let out his last breath.

"Aw Jesus." He cradled his friend's head and looked around. "We need some help! Pleeeaaase!" Then he held Tyler's head and sobbed.


	5. The Popular Kids

**Chapter 5—The Popular Kids**

**A/N: Sorry this took me so long to update. I've started a business and am now just able to get back to writing. Thanks for your patience and your kind reviews. More on the way.**

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><p>The sun peeked through the windows of the downtown police station now. The young man had a blanket wrapped around him, but he still shivered. His face was red and tears had crusted on his cheeks. His eyes were weary and bloodshot between not having slept and what had happened. He wanted to close his eyes, but that bright-eyed monster roaring at them and Tyler's last breath played over and over in his mind. Occasionally he tried to sip some burnt brown coffee, but his hands shook too hard. With every sip he spilled hot coffee onto his bloodstained tee shirt. The coffee burned his skin, but right now he was too numb all over to notice. He had dirt on his jeans from sitting on the pavement for what seemed hours.<p>

The sleeplessness was starting to take its toll. He bowed and held his black, curly hair, wanting to weep, but somehow couldn't get it out. As reality set in, his throat opened up like he wanted to retch. He dropped the Styrofoam cup and held his neck.

A Charlotte-Mecklenburg police officer, pale and with no hair, wearing the dark blue uniform, walked in and slapped a folder on the table in front of him. He then sat down across from the shaking man.

"Chris Bayless?" he asked.

The man nodded slightly, holding his stomach.

"Officer Birnbaum with the CharMeck Police. How you feeling?"

"Like crap."

"First of all I'm sorry for your loss. Do you know anybody who would want to do this? Did Tyler have any enemies?"

"Not that I know."

"So tell me what happened. Take your time."

Hotchner, JJ and Morgan were up, bright and early, pinning crime scene photos onto the wall board. Officer Birnbaum walked in and shook a firm hand with each of them. "Can I help you, Officer?" Hotchner said.

"Yeah. Just talked to the witness in Room Five, a Christopher Bayless. He said Tyler McAdam got run over by a four-door dark sedan. That's all he was able to tell us."

JJ looked over the newest crime scene photos. "Damn. Somebody sure had a grudge against this guy. Chris was telling the truth."

"Like he knew him personally. I want to see whether this case was connected to the others. If it is, then it's the first homicide. That means this unsub is escalating." He opened his cell phone and thumbed the speed dial.

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><p>Penelope Garcia jabbed her phone with her green pencil. "You jack 'em, I'll hack 'em."<p>

"Garcia. Find whatever you can on a Tyler McAdam. I want to see if this case is related to any of the others."

The blonde analyst clicked the keyboard, the monitor reflecting back on her pink glasses. "Let's see. Tyler McAdam. Charlotte, North Carolina." Pictures popped up. "Says here he's a student at Johnson and Wales University just two blocks from where he lives. She tapped the keyboard again. "Well, looky what we have here. Another scumbag. Says here he was acquitted for running over a German Sheppard in the middle of the road at Hornet's Nest Park. A witness said the guy turned around and finished the job while the dog was lying on the road bleeding. Says he was acquitted for lack of evidence, and the only witness had questionable credibility."

Hotchner nodded slightly. "Thanks, Garcia."

"So what's going on?" JJ wanted to know.

"Tyler McAdam reportedly killed a German Sheppard by driving over it twice. Unsub killed him the same way. Lack of evidence and no credible witnesses in this case."

"So now what?"

"Rossi and Morgan are talking to some of the families."

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><p>David Rossi and Derek Morgan walked up the driveway, studying the house that looked like it could be shown off in a house and garden magazine. The bushes and lawn showed every sign of being professionally done. David Rossi knocked on the door, his hand on his firearm.<p>

"Who is it?"

"FBI, Ma'am."

Slowly the brown-haired woman peered out from behind the windowed door. She wore slacks and a blouse, dressed up to go somewhere. A quick profiling said she'd spent a lot of time around high-end company. "Why would the FBI want to talk to me?"

"I'm Special Agent David Rossi, and this is Agent Derek Morgan. We'd like to ask you some questions about your daughter Courtney."

Mrs. Blanchard's face now changed from confusion to rage. "It's about damned time somebody looked into this!" She pointed to the sofa. "Here. Come in and have a seat. Can I brew you up some tea?"

"No thank you Ma'am" Morgan said.

Rossi and Morgan entered the door, stepping into the regal, blue-carpeted living room. "Mrs. Blanchard, could we talk to Courtney?" Morgan asked.

The woman nodded angrily. "Sure as hell took you people long enough! I'll go get her." She walked down the hallway and came back leading a brown-haired teenager by the hand. She wore dark sunglasses and ran her hand along the wall.

The angry mother gently lifted the glasses off the girl's face. "Go ahead, Sweetheart! Show them your eyes! Tell them those are both glass eyes."

The girl didn't say a word. She just seemed to look forward toward the hallway, her hand still on the wall.

"When are you gonna find out who the hell did this?" the mother demanded. "It's been a year now! Go ahead and close your eyes, Courtney." With that she took the dark glasses off the girl's nose. "So, the FBI, huh? Sit down right here, dear. Let's make sure these gentlemen know what happened." The girl groped for the couch and slowly sat down, accustomed to having her mother steer her around now.

"What about Mr. Blanchard?" Morgan wanted to know.

"Gone. Don't know where he is or who he ran off with. And to be honest I don't care. What's that got to do with this?"

"Ma'am, it seems we've had some cases like this around the city. Can you tell us a little about what happened last year? Was there anyone else involved?"

Morgan's phone buzzed. "'Scuse me a second." Stepping out the door, he flipped his phone open. "Talk to me, Princess."

"Checking Amanda Blanchard's bank records. About the time her little brat skewered that cat, Mommy Dearest wrote checks for a hundred dollars each to four of Courtney's friends, all on the same day. Looks like she was paying them to shut up."

"Thought so. Thanks, Baby Girl."

She smiled. "Anything for my prince down there in the Queen City." With that she jabbed her phone off.

Morgan nodded knowingly as he closed his phone. "Mrs. Blanchard?"

The woman leveled her eyes at him.

"FBI checked your bank records. Ends up about the time Courtney attacked that cat, you wrote checks for a hundred dollars each to her friends, all on the same day."

The mother's eyes blazed as she bolted off the sofa. "You what? You checked my bank records? What gives you the right? What cat? And what you mean attack a cat? My daughter wouldn't do a thing like that!"

"Probable cause" Rossi insisted. "Ma'am, we believe whoever did this to your daughter did it in revenge. He knows your daughter took the neighbor cat's eyes out with an icepick, and we believe this person took revenge on her."

The girl turned her face toward her mother. She could sense the nervousness. "Mom?"

Silence.

"I just wanted to make it go away" she stammered. "No witnesses."

"Well, it didn't go away for the cat's owners" Rossi reminded her.

"Mom!" Her voice trailed off. "Please don't tell them!"

The bearded agent furrowed his eyebrows at her. "Courtney's friends are talking, Mrs. Blanchard. Kids do that when the FBI gets in their faces, money or no money."

The woman dipped her head as Morgan stood behind her and took his cuffs from his belt.

"Please don't. I swear, I'll do anything."

"Amanda Blanchard, you're under arrest. Obstruction of justice and witness tampering."

Courtney quickly put her hand out toward her mother's voice. "Ma! No!"

"What about my daughter?" her mother sobbed.

Rossi opened his phone. "Local police will keep her in protective custody until we can call your next of kin. I'll stay with her until they get here."

The girl put her hand out and followed her mother's voice. "Mom!"

Rossi stood in the doorway. "Courtney, you'll have to stay here."

She pushed against him and screamed. She had an idea what "protective custody" meant. "_No! Mom!"_

With tears in her eyes, the woman looked back as Morgan hustled her to the car. "I'll be back, Sweetheart. I promise!"

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><p>As Betsy slept on the green couch, the hand reached down and stroked her soft fur. The cat blinked and purred softly at her owner.<p>

"Yes, that's my sweetie pie" the voice said softly. "I took care of another one. We showed him, didn't we? Yes we did. He won't ever hurt another dog again."

_Rowr?_

"Yes, I love you too, darling. We'll find the one who hurt you. Soon."


End file.
